The Ultimate Food Challenge (HWK 1)

Food. This word stirs up millions of different responses to people all around the world. It can cause one to have flashbacks or reminiscing thoughts of a time or event where food was a part of or it can cause an immediate mouth watering reaction. Either way, food is almost always thought up of in a happy manner. It brings comfort for a person who may be in need, it brings a sense of satisfaction for a person in hunger or even just a person who has that certain craving for something, it brings people together for celebrations, such as birthdays or holidays and for the not-so-celebrations like funerals. No matter what the situation or event may be, food always has a rightful place. No wrong can come from it for it is the true happiness in this world.

Succumbing to the power of food is simply inevitable. This is especially true for me. I stumbled across a saying a few years ago and I immediately felt that it completely described me and my love for food. It said, “The key to my heart is through my stomach.” Oh how this couldn’t be any truer for me than if it had my name in it! I love food more than what is considered normal by most people. Not many people realize when they first meet me how much I can eat. Most think that just because I’m fit that I must not eat that much. Oh how I relish those people’s facial expressions when that moment comes where they see how much I can truly pack it in when it comes to food. It’s priceless!

My sister partakes in my same obsession about food if not even more. I’m a little disappointed to say that she’s thinner than I am and can pack food in ten times more than I ever can. Even I am amazed sometimes as I watch her tare through a monster thickburger from Hardees with the burger patty far too large for its bun counterpart. And yet, she motivates me to gulf down my thickburger right alongside her. She and I share a passion for challenging ourselves when it comes to food. We like to test our limits and discover just how much we can eat in one sitting. This being said, when the “Big Pie in the Sky” pizzeria advertised for their “carnivore challenge,” we knew it was the ultimate test for us.

So here’s the challenge: it’s a 48 inch pizza that has 11 pounds of meaty toppings as well as other various toppings on it. Two people have within one hour to finish the pizza without throwing up or leaving the table’s immediate vicinity. A team receives 50 dollars for attempting this carnivorous dream’s challenge and IF the team actually does manage to scarf down the pizza and keep it down, then they receive 250 dollars cash. On top of the monetary rewards, the winner also earns the bragging rights to officially say that they have come, they have seen, and they have conquered the carnivore challenge. Needless to say, my sister and I felt obliged to at least try to eat this human marvel they call a pizza.

We prepared for the challenge a week in advance. We would sit there in sessions and try to see how much we could eat in one setting. We timed ourselves and practiced pacing because we were used to just literally inhaling food, not really chewing, but we knew that would not get us far in the carnivore challenge. We stretched our stomachs as far as we stretched our imaginations that we could, in fact, finish the pizza under the imposed rules. Finally, our time came.

It was a Monday, around 3:30 in the afternoon. I called in advanced and scheduled a time for my sister and me to take on the challenge. When we arrived at the pizzeria, the workers thought we were joking about the challenge. They were in complete disbelief that two thin girls who looked like they could barely eat more than a slice or two were standing in front of them asking for the colossal of all pizzas, for the pizza that other pizzas quiver in its wake. After a few minutes of convincing, two workers carried the pizza out to the table, placed it, and set the time. So the countdown began.

My sister and I worked our way slowly but surely through the pizza, pacing ourselves just as we practiced. After the first twenty minutes passed, we were making decent progress. I grasped on to the idea that we could finish the pizza! I could see the other pizza customers out of the corner of my eyes, gawking at us at what we were attempting. I couldn’t really blame them because I was doing the same thing! I focused my energy and thoughts into just finishing without puking. We were doing pretty well and we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Then that light went out.

After about 40 minutes of intense, focused eating, our progress on the pizza slowed down drastically. That energy and motivation that existed in the beginning of our feat just no longer remained. All I could think about at this point was just passing out on the floor! Our one hour to finish the pizza came to an end, and sadly, my sister and I did not finish the pizza...

Even though we didn’t finish it completely, we did eat more than about 60 percent of the pizza which was an accomplishment in itself! I’m proud of the progress my sister and I made on the pizza that day. The experience was definitely an interesting one and one that I’m sure to never forget. After all, it’s pretty hard to forget about a pizza that’s roughly about the size of a house window. Who knows? Perhaps my sister and I will go back to that challenge after some time, practice, and my stomach returning to its normal feeling. Until then, we prepare for our next challenge of taking on the triple king burger from “fatburger.” That one, I can handle.

Image: photographer unknown. "toto's pizzeria." Photograph. 2008. From FoodNut. http://www.foodnut.com/i/totos-pizza/totos-pizza-margherita.jpg

Blog Post #1: Come now, gather 'round the table.

Food is in my blood. Pungent auras, luring spices, and exotic concoctions trickle through my veins and circulate throughout my bloodstream. It all started in the womb; my mother fed me a fair share of these volatile rations in order to prepare my taste buds for the experiences that lay ahead. She never gave mercy or held back because the piquant flavors would not return that favor. Early on, I identified food with my family; no matter where I found myself in the world, it was my sole link to the ones I love the most.

Food is my family’s palette. Various herbs and spices are believed to cure all sorts of injuries and sicknesses with the sensations they rupture into the sickened bodies. Food provided the income of several family members through catering and restaurant businesses giving them the leisure of running their own agendas and sharing their food with the rest of the community. It was even used as a weapon. My mother punished my brother and me with red chili pepper when she heard us utter any type of profanity. The quaint adage, wash your mouth with soap, did not ever cross my mother’s mind. My brother and I ran from our mother all throughout the house as she chased us down to chug the spiciest chili she could find down our throats. When I was young, chili was the devil without the goatee and pitchfork. Both my brother and I can endorse this method to be highly more effective than washing out a dirty mouth with soap.

My father’s family owned a well known chicken noodle soup shop in Muar, Johor, Malaysia. It was located five minutes away from their small, wooden house where my grandparents’ devised their coveted recipes. And on the other spectrum of my family, my mother’s side, every woman holds some form of culinary art. I have yet to prove myself and, as of now, I am the exception as well as the discreditable case. And nothing, absolutely nothing, can distract any of these women from the stove. My uncle told me that when he was young, he saw my grandmother kill a rat with her own bare feet as it passed by her while she was frying noodles in a pan. No one was allowed in the kitchen when she was at work. No exceptions.

In Malaysia, food dictates the culture. All the talk about the major holidays is never satiated without the mention of the food to be served. Eating out is affordable and very common. A three course meal can be found at anytime of the day. There is always a mamak stall open doing its good deed of serving those who seek for food at the darkest hour of the night. Having lived outside of my country of origin for a large portion of my life, it is food that has always been a comforting reminder of where I am from. Malaysian food remains a nostalgic euphoria; my proud knowledge of this cuisine and boastful ability to describe tom yam soup, whose spices are so salivating and, yet, has a malicious ability to choke me with its stinging flavor if I gulp its numb-warming contents too savagely, make up for my ignorance of the other aspects of the complex culture. The red lava of the chili absorbing the anchovies in the nasi lemak erupting in my mouth launches me back to the humid dining room in my grandparent’s single story house. As I continue to devour on the coconut drenched rice, my mind envisages my grandmother painting the dinner table with the vibrant colors of the meal as the family frames the table. Food beckoned each and every one of our stomachs to the table and, this, later excelled us to fill the room with provincial chatter, bursts of laughter, and beaming faces. Here, at the dinner table, I am nestled in the folds of the love of my family with a satisfied tummy.

As I began to realize food’s role in keeping me in tune with my culture and family, I also discovered an even greater impact food had that was beyond me; an impact that could bond together anyone, anywhere on the globe. This surreal aptitude found in virtually any victuals from a large, succulent thanksgiving turkey basted in its own pool of broth with a dose of herb butter to a simple finger snack such as potato chips. “Potato Chips?” one may ask. Yes, potato chips. For instance, take Lay’s potato chips: salty, saturated fat goodness. “Mmmm betcha can’t eat just one!” Other than its nutritional contents and its catch phrase, Lay’s potato chips have been doing missionary work for years. It has converted people from all over the globe to its creed of munching and snacking. The Turks enjoy potato chips when they’re not eating their thick, juicy lamb kabobs or sweet, flakey layers of baklava while the English set a few chips neatly beside their fish and tea, and don’t forget the pit bowls of potatoes chips centered in all American living rooms during the football season. Food not only connects me to my ethnic root; it crafts this unfathomable interconnectivity present in this world, which breaks the barriers of culture, language, and tradition that transcend us as humans.

This interconnectivity created by food can be found everywhere; for example, buffets. I love them. It is not just the variety of numerous appetizers, main course dishes, or fountains of desserts that giddy me up every time I step into a Sweet Tomatoes or Golden Coral. It is my moment to lose all inhibition. It doesn’t matter who sees me and I don’t really care to look up from my plate. I can feel trashy and fat without caring because everyone else is doing the same thing.

If I could tell my food a small little story before I gobble them up, I probably would. I would tell my food how much I appreciate its presence in my life. But, since there is really no point in talking to my food, all I have to do is savor every bite and hope the next one is just as good.

-Zulaikha

Significance of Food (HWK 1)

I believe that food plays a very important part of my life. Most of the time, we eat food as a necessity to live but very rarely do we see people eat for pleasure or actually taste the flavor of food. Not only is it a way of bringing people together but also provides a source of fun. It can preserve traditions and culture throughout the family.

I will always remember the times when my friends and I shared great times at the fast food restaurants and how much fun we had whenever we cooked during the barbeques on weekends.

Once, when it was my birthday, my friends and I decided to go to MacDonald's. We walked about a mile to get to the restaurant but we sang songs all along the way there. We told jokes and recounted the funny happenings that we encountered during the day or those that happened in school. On reaching the McDonald's we would comment on the posters of the toys they were giving away and had a good laugh over it. Then we would go to the drive-in and pretend we were sitting in a car when we were actually sitting in a shopping trolley. One person would be sitting in the trolley holding his arms in front of him as if he were holding a steeringwheel and another would push him from behind while the rest of us watched and laughed. We'd get a few frowns from the waitress but it didn't matter to us. All we cared about was the fun we had there. We would then go in and order super king sized double layered burgers, which are bigger than our faces, and make fun of each other's comical eating pose. We thoroughly enjoy every meal we have and grateful that it has made us feel so pleasant.

Another time, my parents took me and two of my best friends out to the beach for a barbeque party. It was an amazing experience which I enjoyed very much. We reached the beach after an hour of driving and then laid out all the barbeque equipments we had brought along. It included a small metal casket like thing where we put the charcoal and a long shiny fork that was used to pierce the chicken and beef. My mom had prepared a large quantity of meat that was mixed with all kinds of sauce to create an original taste. The sauce was quite hot and tasted like tomatoes and chili but I did not know what was really in the sauce. I loved my mother's cooking and her food always seems so appealing. My father would be the one who, with a fan in hand, looked through the process of making sure the fire was the correct temperature and the meat stayed tender. He would say it was his area of expertise and he did a good job of making delicious, soft and juicy meat. My friends I would play in the sand all morning and come back, hungry and eager for the food that we attracted us from a mile away. These all relate to the great times I had whenever we got amazing food around us.

I think that food and tradition are closely linked together. We often see people of different races around the world identifying themselves by the food that they usually eat. We would say that dumplings are the main kind of food in China, Macaroni or pizza from Italy, biryani from India. It is a way for people to telling others who they are and what type of traditions they have. Food not only lets us enjoy living life more but also provides us with a new experience each day. It can brighten up your days when you're depressed or it can entertain a person who is bored. Food can bring out the distinct characteristics of a nation and the popular choice. For example, in United States of America, a large portion of the population think that fast food is a way of life and they cannot imagine life without it. In China, people believe that food is a vital part of their life and they have special dishes for the different occasions throughout the year. These dishes have their individual meanings and story behind it. During spring festival, people all over China would sit in front of their chairs and eat dumpling that they had made that morning.

It is believed that eating the dumpling would bring you luck and prosperity for the following years to come. Although, it is a myth, everyone still follows the tradition because it has been integrated into our culture and lifestyle.

Another aspect of food is that it bring family together. Very often, we would see a group of family members get together at a table during New Year to eat a dinner or lunch together. No matter what pops up during the day, a member of the family would always try to get back home and have dinner with his or her family.

My mother would occasionally try to teach me to cook and we would always end up with a big mess on the kitchen tables and a lot of vegetable peels in the sink.

It would be a fun afternoon and I enjoy learning to cook with my mom every time. She would actually do all the cooking herself but she takes pleasure in telling me how everything works and what sauce to add for which dish and so on. I would usually take a break from studying just to visit her in the kitchen and she would constantly tell me all about the new recipe she had seen on television or some new dish she had picked up from a cook book.

This experience kept me close to my family and created a bond in our relationships. I think that food is a very effective way of getting people together and creating a relaxing environment. Not only does food bring out the differences in people but also their similarities. I do not merely accept food as a requirement for survival but rather a enjoyment in life.

pictures:

family at the table pic: nurturingfaith.wordpress.com/2007/01/

beach: httpmedia-cdn.tripadvisor.commediaphoto-s01280a70beach-barbeque.jpg

kitchen sink: http://images.veer.com/IMG/PIMG/BLP/BLP0007303_P.JPG

Chinese dumplings: http://www.fenfenyu.com/JDWPPath/三鲜饺子.jpg

Nachos: A Vibrant Display Of Cultural Difference.

To me, nachos are not just an ordinary food that we enjoy as our snack or something we have to get when we go to a ball game. To me, it means much more than that; I could find cultural differences and how cultural differences are being overcome through my experience with nachos.

November 28, 2004, my family and I arrived to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. By observing such a different environment, I expected my life to be whole lot different. Yet It did not occur to me until I had to go to school, my first American school.

Midst of the foreigners, there was I, waiting in a line to be served with my first lunch ever be eaten in American school. Yet to realize how this simple lunch would turn out to be, I was fluttered and excited for my first lunch experience. I have read many books about schools in United States, written by the international students studying in United States; therefore, I had slight ideas to how my first lunch in American school would be like. Yet, I was anxious.

‘Hmmmm, I would love to have some pizza, chicken fingers, or hamburger. Oh, wait! What is this smell? It does not smell so familiar to me. I doubt that I will be served with those foods. Then, what can it be?’

Rich cheesy smell of nachos assailed my nostrils. I did not know what was stimulating this funky smell. The smell was not familiar to me. It was so new to me in a way that I am new to this American school and a first lunch served at school. Have not yet experienced nachos, the unrecognizable smell aroused my curiosity and made me become eager to be served. When it became my turn, I received my food realizing it to be distant from what I had expected. Doomed! The lunch menu of the day was hard tacos with nachos. In Korea, generally people consume much less cheese than people here do, because it is too oily for them. My mother, a typical Korean housewife, she refuses to use the suggested amount of butter and oil whenever she bakes or cooks, but on the other hand, she would add extra garlic or peppers when she cooks. Finding out that big yellow dollops on the chips were cheese did not take me long, but it surely did take me by surprise. My realization had me mildly panicked. For not having been exposed to nachos or tacos, I was anxious to try them. As a typical teenage boy from Korea, I also disliked the excess amount of cheese poured onto salty chips.

‘I do not think I will be able to eat this food. No matter how long I stay in United States, I do not think I will ever like this food. Richness of cheese and its funky smell will never appetite me!’

This Korean friend named Ji-Yong, who was helping me survive through my first day of American school lead me to the table where his friends were gobbling down their lunch. On the table, there was a girl named Kayla. Blonde hair and blue eyes, she is so distinct from the people that I used to see in Korea. However, her appearance was not the only factor that she differed with me. Reaching out her hand for nachos and again, she clearly showed her liking nachos. I tried taco but did not even look at nachos. When she was done with her nachos, she licked the cheese that got on her fingers. My mother used to tell me not to ever lick something off my finger, because the finger is supposedly the one of the dirtiest body part. Having been listening to her over time, I myself believe it is unsanitary for one to lick something off one’s finger.

‘Yuck! She is licking cheese off from her fingers! If my mother had seen her, she would have lectured her about how bad it is for her to do that!’

Honestly, I could not even stand the cheesy, oily smell of nachos. Not knowing this, my friend Ji-Yong and Kayla wanted me to try some of the nachos. Just like I expected, taste of nachos was not satisfying. I regret having to listen to them. After having been tried some, I thought,

‘If I live in the United States for long enough, would I be able to enjoy nachos?’

Sitting on a table, surrounded by friends that looked different from me and spoke the language that I was not used to, I felt so out of place. Just watching them having a great time finishing off their lunch, their sucking on the bit of cheese that gotten on their finger, even triggered the feeling.

‘Would I be able to be a part of them? Even when we are so different?’

Now I have lived in United States for about 5 years, I have no fear in having nachos. The smell and the taste that was unbearable to me once are being liked by my sensory organs. My nostril is no longer being assailed by the smell, but instead gets ticked softly; my taste buds no longer recognize nachos as something that is too oily or tasteless, but instead recognize it as something that is appetizing. Just like my nostril and taste buds are being adapted to the unexplored taste; I am being adapted the new life in United States. I became friends with the foreigners who spoke the language, which I was not used to listen. Also, now I no longer freak out whenever someone licks food off his finger. My roommate has blonde hair and green eyes, and I have black hair and brown eyes. However, my roommate and I are like brothers, no cultural differences bring any conflict between us. This weekend, I am going to have nachos with my roommate, and I will tell him about my little story behind nachos.

Through nachos, I have learned that as an immigrant from Korea, there are going to be many cultural differences that I need to know about and find the wiser way overcoming the differences. Also, through nachos I have learned that the cultural differences could be overcome.

Photographs:

Image 1: “nachos” from thepost-itplace.com

http://thepost-itplace.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/nachos.jpg

Image 2: “nachos” from hairyalien.com

http://www.hairyalien.com/nachos.jpg

Image 3: “nachos23” from irvineretail.freedomblogging.com

http://irvineretail.freedomblogging.com/files/2009/02/nachos23.jpg

Beef: It’s what’s for dinner. (Blog Post #1)

By LOGAN BETZEN

Imagine growing up on a farm in rural Kansas. Imagine that your father raises beef cattle and it seems as though the only thing he or your mother ever consider cooking for dinner is a variation of beef. Every night you eat steak, or hamburgers, or tacos, or meatloaf -- the list goes on and on. Sometimes you and your sister feel as if you will not be able to take another bite of beef ever again. But then, of course, the next night you do. Growing up with such a diet might be a little strange for you to imagine, but I can imagine -- we grew up eating plenty of beef.

Yes, you guessed it. My sister and I were born and raised in rural Kansas. My parents still live in our small German-Catholic farming community. My father is a full-time farmer and raises his own beef cattle. One might assume that this meant we grew all of our own food, but my father sells all of his crops. However, the beef he raises is all ours. It is true that he sells some cattle occasionally for quick cash, but year-round the freezer at home is fully stocked with our home-grown beef. We have never been without plenty of round steak, ground chuck, t-bone steak, hamburgers, and more. Growing up, I always took our plethora of fresh beef for granted. I never realized how lucky we were. It is especially amazing to me when I meet someone who never ate beef growing up. Apparently they make ground turkey and turkey burgers. I just discovered this! I had no idea.

As an adult I have had to become familiar with buying meat from a grocery store for the first time. Unfortunately, I find that store-bought meat is much fattier and just is not the same as the grass-fed goodness I was raised on. However, no matter the quality of the meat, I will always associate beef with comfort food. Just thinking about my mother’s meatloaf makes my mouth water. I have tried plenty of meat loaf dishes at restaurants, and there is just something missing. I have a feeling that the difference between my mom’s fresh, home-grown beef and the store-bought beef served in restaurants is the real missing link, but I think there is more to it.

I can remember that we always knew we would be getting meatloaf for dinner when we would find my mother mixing (by hand) raw ground beef and ground pork in an old, giant mixing bowl. I suppose that she has a recipe for meatloaf but she would just throw the regular ingredients together from memory and add new ingredients to “mix it up a little” -- as she called it. (We have a running joke in the family that my mother’s food “inventions” never turn out edible but the truth is that nearly everything she makes is delicious.)

My mother bakes her mysterious meatloaf concoction in a round cast-iron skillet and we slice it like a pizza or a pie. Restaurant-style meatloaf always seems to be cut in boring little squares. My mother never slathers ketchup on her meatloaf, but instead, uses a mixture of chili sauce and brown sugar that baked into the meat and literally melted in your mouth. Words fail to describe how amazing her meatloaf is. Sometimes, I like to imagine that my mother’s recipe for meatloaf is special and dates back to our ancestors who have passed it down, generation to generation. Such a fascinating story might exist, but her meatloaf is able to stand on its own, without a historical introduction. In fact, even now, my mother has invented what she likes to call Meatloaf Muffins. They sound a little daunting but I truly cannot wait to try them!

Another homemade dish that I have been craving is cheeseburger mac. The cheesy goodness of it waters my mouth instantly. My mother, the only competent cook in the family, loves to make this all the time because of its simple, yet delicious, design. The combination of ground beef, cheese sauce, and elbow macaroni is one of the pinnacle flavors that my taste buds desire. Another wonderful factor to this monumental meal is the fact that the leftovers taste just as delicious. My mother can make cheeseburger mac in mass quantities, so that, whenever I so desire, I can heat up a bowl in a jiffy and have a great lunch. Good ol’ cheeseburger mac is arguably the most satisfying meal in my mother’s repertoire.

Even though I have only mentioned my mother’s wonderful meatloaf, and amazing cheeseburger mac, I love all of her beef dishes. My parents treated us to fresh steak grilled on the barbeque, fabulous chili, my sister’s favorite chicken fried steak, giant hamburgers, and a multitude of tacos. The menu of beefy food we grew up with is literally endless. Just thinking about it has me yearning for home.

From an early age my sister and I learned, “What’s the best thing that goes with beef? Potatoes!” With our meatloaf we love fresh mashed potatoes drizzled with melted butter. With hamburgers and cheeseburger mac we love hot, crispy french fries. But, any meal can be completed with a hot, toasty baked potato right out of the oven. As much as we love beef for dinner, we seem to love all variations of potatoes just as much. The two complement each other to create the ultimate comfort foods. A diet of meat and potatoes could very well be the most satisfying of diets ever implemented.

Of course, these days, whenever I sit down for a meal, the first thing I ask is, “Where’s the beef?” I cannot seem to help myself. I bet that after reading this you too are itching to taste my mother’s meatloaf, cheeseburger mac, mashed potatoes, etc. I could not blame you. I am too. Here is to great eating! But for me, you will find me ordering beef for dinner tonight.

Image 1: Another Pint Please..., photograhper. "Steak... on the Grill." Photograph. 2008. From Flickr.com. http://www.flickr.com/photos/anotherpintplease/2186673560/ (accessed September 01, 2009)
Image 2: Tambako the Jaguar, photographer. "Wheat field." Photograph. 2008. From Flickr.com. http://www.flickr.com/photos/tambako/2629381936/ (accessed September 03, 2009)
Image 3: su-lin, photographer. "Meatloaf Slice." Photograph. 2007. From Flickr.com. http://www.flickr.com/photos/su-lin/1095144990/ (accessed on September 03, 2009)
Image 4: Stefano A, photographer. "Mashed Potatoes." Photograph. 2008. From Flickr.com http://www.flickr.com/photos/joesixpac/2992728474/ (accessed on September 03, 2009)

Blog HW #1: Dumplings, Mother and the Coin

Being the most classical traditional food in China, dumplings have been blessed with various layers of meanings: togetherness, happiness and best wishes for the next year. As for me, they are not simply boat-shaped rolls which have delicious stuffing, instead they became the origin of my confidence and the symbol of my mother’s love.

I can still vaguely recall that it was the time when Spring Festival was around the corner, all the families were busy with buying flour, making dough and cooking the tasty dumplings with a variety of stuffing. Every single person seemed to enjoy the upcoming feast of dumplings and be immersed in the joyful atmosphere.

The only exception was me.

Back then, I was still a very shy girl who rarely dared to speak out one’s perceptions and perspectives. With a personality like this, I could hardly gain any appraisals from my teachers or build friendship with my classmates. Due to all of these reasons, I eventually maintained a negative attitude toward the surroundings and could not help thinking I was the most unfortunate girl in the world. I considered this most significant festival of the Chinese as any other ordinary days in addition to some dumplings.

It was at that night when my mother called upon all of my family members and announced that from then on, we would initiate a new custom. The rule was simple: she would wrap a coin in one of the dumplings and whoever got this coin would be considered as the luckiest guy in our family for the next year.

“What kind of difference will that stupid dumpling make?” Being extremely careless to my mother’s considerate little surprise, I just grabbed the plate from her hand and sat down.

Not blaming for my rude interruption, my mother just smiled and handed over everyone a plate filled with hot and mouthwatering dumplings. With absolutely no interest in my mother’s childish little game, I just want to finish this plate as soon as possible and went back to my room. However, as I dug into my plate, my mother whisked away the plate in front of me, saying, “This was too much for you.” and handed out hers to me.

Quietness took hold of the rest of the meal until my unexpected discover broke this awkward silence. I felt a weirdly cold and hard object tipping in my mouth.

It was that coin.

With loads of excitement and bits of suspicion, I stared at my mother who already had “pride” written all over her face.

“My daughter will be the luckiest girl in this whole year!” She said so in a tone mixed with happiness and affirmation.

After I started to believe that I was the one who was designated with good luck, I finally made a difference in my life. There is such thing called confidence breaking into my life as time elapsed. Blessed by that magical dumpling, I could manage the interpersonal relationship and handle my school work much better. What’s more, I began to look forward to the very beautiful occasion, Spring Festival and can’t wait to taste some of the excellent dumplings, at the same time, find out that if my luck can last.

Every Spring Festival, she served us with dumplings.

Every year, she played this same little game.

Every year, somehow it was me who would always get the lucky dumpling.

Gradually, eating dumplings has already rooted in my daily life. Each time I felt depressed or lost, I would resort to dumplings to quest for comfort and power, regardless whether they had coins stuffed in them or not. But time by time, I accumulated experience and skills through these failure and success, eventually, I grew up to an age when I no longer needed the fortunate dumplings to build my confidence in life. My becoming mature and considerate urged me to doubt about how this miracle could ever possibly happen.

The dumplings were nothing special. Lying in the plate neatly, every single one of them looked like an exquisite piece of art work, glowing with the same charming pearl color and spreading the similar inviting smell. The only difference is that there would always be one dumpling with a coin hidden in it appeared on my plate.

Last Spring Festival, just as the time when I decided to give up on the search of my mother’s little secret and lived in the peace with the small world that I was the most fortunate one, my mother invited me to her kitchen, the place where I had rarely stepped into because of various excuses. She was busy with going through all the preparations before making dumplings. All I did was standing there and watching her running back and forth. The process was tiring and time-consuming, nothing special. But as she started to cook the dumplings, I finally revealed the secret I longed to discover: She stuffed a well-washed coin into a dumpling, wrapped it up and boiled it in a separate little pot. By this way she can always pour the fortunate dumpling correctly on my plate without mixing with other dumplings.

She placed that fortunate dumpling into my plate, smiled and handed it to me. Holding the plate in both hands, I was wordless. How can a simple “thank you” reward her effort? Her willing of wasting her precious time and patience dedicated for rebuilding her juvenile daughter’s confidence, her forgiveness of her daughter’s inconsideration and her love and intelligence as a mother all impressed me. Waiting no more, I handed the fortunate dumpling back to her respectfully and gave her a hug which I had owed her since long ago.

There was no such thing like lucky dumpling in the world. It was her who made the miracle happen to me. From then on, my favorite was still the inviting dumplings, but I no longer need to eat “fortunate” dumplings, because I have already got mine, my sweet and beloved mother.

picture: 1."homemade dumplings" from xiapu.com

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2."dumplings" by feixue from bbs.ssfeng.com

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Unusual Furry Food

Throughout my life, I have experienced many varieties of food from many varieties of cultures. I have experienced everything from the oriental dishes my Japanese family loves to cook, to the country kettle cooking of Southern Illinois where I grew up. I’ve eaten at luaus in Hawaii and at pubs in London. I’ve eaten at a true pit barbecue in Southern California, and have eaten fresh lobster in Boston. However, there is one experience that stands out from all of these. My favorite eating experience is one that I create completely from the start, and is unique to people who live in rural areas like I once did. It is the experience of eating squirrel.

I know that the thought of eating a squirrel is repulsive to many people. It was for me as well at first, but there is some clarifying that needs to be done before the judging starts. The squirrels I eat are nothing like the ones we see around here, surviving off candy wrappers and cigarette buds. The ones I eat live naturally in the wild, growing fat off acorns and wild berries. Their coats are clean and glossy, unlike their city counterparts who are smudged and mottled from rummaging through garbage. The squirrel I eat is an agile, crafty creature of the woods that hasn’t seen a single piece of trash in its entire life.

There are many ways to cook squirrel. Some people make squirrel pie and others make squirrel stew. My personal favorite is fried squirrel, the hind legs to be specific. Before I explain the tastes and textures of fried squirrel, I will guide you through the process of making the dish. Depending on how much you want to make, the process can take a while. One way to speed up the process and have a lot of fun is to have a squirrel fry.

Squirrel fries are similar to fish fries. You invite a few families over, but instead of bringing their fishing, poles, they bring their guns. The squirrel fry starts with everyone heading out into the woods to “collect” some squirrels. There are two types of guns that are typically used. Less experienced hunters can use a shotgun loaded with a spread shot. This makes it easier to hit the squirrel, but also can ruin the meat by filling it with shot or shredding the meat. Experienced hunters use small rifles, like twenty-two’s. This is much more challenging because the single bullet needs to hit the squirrel in the head. This guarantees that all of the meat stays intact and unharmed.

After a few hours of “collecting”, the next stage of the fry starts. It is the cleaning stage. I’ll spare you the bloody details, literally, and give you a brief overview. The fur, skin, internal organs, and head is removed from the body of each squirrel and disposed of properly. The majority of the meat is located on the strong hind legs of the squirrel. These are removed from the body and kept together in a container, a.k.a. a five gallon bucket. From this point on, I will be focusing on what happens to the legs.

Now it’s frying time! Some people like to deep fry and some people fry on large pans placed on grills. It doesn’t really matter to me because they both taste great and are a lot of fun to do. First you whisk some eggs in a bowl, and then add a little milk. Dip the legs into the bowl, roll them in flour, and the fry them until all of their sides are golden brown.

The best part of the fry has finally arrived. Chow time! Squirrel can be served with corn bread, mashed potatoes, beans, corn, and other fresh vegetables. Keeping all of the dishes fresh and home grown enhances the flavor of the meal and adds appreciation to the dishes. Whenever my family holds a squirrel fry, no other meats are served. The spotlight is on the squirrel. Many other families do the same at their fries.

Explaining what squirrel tastes like is difficult. Animals that live in the wild have a certain taste that they all share. If you eat a turkey from Kroger, and then you eat wild turkey, you’ll notice that there is a big difference in the flavor. This “wild” flavor is the most prevalent in squirrel. Squirrel explodes with this flavor. People who have eaten squirrel for years claim that you can even tastes whether or not a squirrel lived near a berry patch. The ones that did have a slightly sweeter taste while the ones that didn’t have a hint of nuttiness from their diet of acorns. Add all of these flavors to the crunchy, fried crust around the meat, and that’s fried squirrel.

There is still one last stage of the fry, the relaxation stage. Everyone sits around the fire remembering the day’s activities. Some are telling stories, some are smoking a pipe or drinking beer, and others are cleaning their guns content with sitting and listening to the sounds of the night. Everyone is full, everyone has enjoyed the day, and everyone is happy.

It’s easy to see why I love to eat squirrel. It isn’t just the flavor of the food, but the whole experience that goes along with it. Whenever squirrel is on the day’s menu, I know that I am guaranteed to see lots of people and have a great time throughout the day.

Eating squirrel is uncommon in many places, and that is another reason why I like it. It is as unique as the people who eat it. Having squirrel fries make the eating experience more personal. Throughout the day, you are surrounded by friends and loved ones who are all working together towards one goal, a great tasting evening meal. The fun you have throughout the day turns into memories that stay with you forever. All of this is made possible by one small creature that is also a delicious meal. The common squirrel.

Until rabbit season…